Red Rain
January 30th, 2007
I am ready for lots of things. A hurricane, for example. I am completely ready for a hurricane. I have propane lamps, a stockpile of water, Gatorade and enough Chef Boyardee products to keep me fat and happy on ravioli and canned ziti for the rest of my days. I am also ready for any swimming emergencies that may arise, for I have lots of supplies! Yes! I have bathing suits and swimcaps and goggles and earplugs. I will swim to you. Just call me, and I will swim to you!
I am not entirely ready to talk about my hair. But I will try. In fact, I will start by telling you that Squiggy has kind of lost his mind, and kicked off this evening’s coloring session by telling me about the time he pulled a tampon from the bathroom garbage can and started swatting flies with it. (“I mean, I noticed every time I killed one, there was blood on the wall and then I realized, I WAS SWATTING THEM WITH A BLOODY TAMPON.”) Or how he asked me to ghost write his memoirs (“So, like, if I give you some tapes with random stories on it, can you like, turn them into a book and get it published?”). What’s most important here are the words “coloring session.” Color. COLOR. I mean, I can kind of live with the fact that when I walked out of there I resembled Carol Brady: The Bouffant Years, because when I style it myself and get rid of the, ah, volume, it’s actually a cute haircut. But there is the issue that when I got home, Ad stared at me without saying a word for what I’m guessing was a full minute, then silently – stonily, I might even say – picked up a box of Mike & Ike Hot Tamales and held it up to my head.
It matched.
My head is radioactive. I mean, if you prefer, you can call me Ronald MacDonald. This happened because I mentioned that I was going swimming, after Squiggs asked me why I was so skinny (hooray!) and then ALL HELL BROKE LOOSE. As in, there were lots of fits thrown about the dangers of chlorine on my blondish hair, and did I really – REALLY – feel like walking around with a head that resembled peat moss? Well, I mean, of course the answer was no, because really – peat moss. No one even likes peat moss, as it can’t hold a candle to Spanish moss, which hangs there all pretty and delicate-like off of big, southern trees in glamorous places like Savannah and it’s all Forrest Gump and everything, while peat moss is pissy, green and garden-variety. It’s so Erie, Pennsylvania. Decidedly unpretty.
So I agreed to a nice, soft, auburnish browny red until the swimming subsides, because I wasn’t ready to be Erie. I wanted to be Savannah. Instead, I am South Beach. Or more specifically, I am a transvestite dressed up to resemble Lindsay Lohan-cum-Carol Channing who is roaming the streets of South Beach.
In other news, I went back to the dentist today to have a filling filed down, as it was hitting high, and have you ever had a filling screw up your bite? Yeah. It’s not unlike chewing on a roll of tin foil, and even tonight, when the Squiggmeister foiled my head, I cringed, because it was reminiscent of the pain I felt every time I even thought about potato chips. Anyway, the hygienist who saved my life and also enabled me to eat foodstuffs other than yogurt refused to move her mask from the half-mast position, and had an accent of indeterminate origin and yet, that didn’t stop her from chatting me up and ah, hugging me. Our opening scene, after a brief description of my problem, went something like this:
Hygienist: “Oh my schursghlket! I rourve yelly FLERRYRINGS!”
Jonniker: “I’m so sorry – you mean I’m not getting Novocaine?”
Hygienist: “No! NO! I rourve yelly FLERRYRINGS! Rie ravey RECKLACE RAT MARCHESIMO!”
And then she hugged me and started petting my arm. And then stroked my hair. And hugged me again. And then rubbed my arm again. And then – you guessed it – she HUGGED ME AGAIN. Was she deranged? About to pull a tooth without Novocaine? Trying to tell me I needed a root canal?
No no. She liked my earrings. And she has a necklace that matches them! Of course. Taking advantage of her apparent, err, affection for me, I took the opportunity to ask her if the sparks from the drilling could at all sort of maybe, I mean, POSSIBLY, start a fire in the exam room, given that there were what seemed to be three tall OPEN oxygen tanks right next to my chair? After all, it’s what took down the ValueJet flight over the Everglades, and why not a dental office? WHY NOT? But, ah, apparently not. Or I’m guessing not, because she replied with:
“RO RO RO. ROXYGENEO ARCHTY. SEE?”
And then she turned one of the tanks on and off, on and off, I supposed to demonstrate the safety of highly-flammable gases shooting through the air in a room that once bore the smoke of my burning, flaming flesh, and so I simply brought her attention back to my filling, yes, THE FILLING. DRILL, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD AND DON’T KILL US. And by the way, at this point, I realized that the person wielding a drill is in fact, not a dentist, and in fact, is a hygienist who doesn’t really speak in any sort of coherent manner (“FLELLYFLARTUGAS!”). And yet, she was holding a drill over my open mouth. And a giant needle. Yet shockingly, she fixed the problem, and when I open my mouth now, I no longer cringe in terror of a light breeze that will set off my pain receptors like a dinner of aluminum foil and sand.
It could be so much worse, red hair and all. Happy Wednesday!
*Peter Gabriel
Entry Filed under: Nuttin'
20 Comments Add your own
1. Amy K | January 30th, 2007 at 10:27 pm
I bet your red hair looks awesome, but if you hate it, take comfort in the fact that red dye fades very quickly.
2. Orange Peacock | January 30th, 2007 at 11:51 pm
Seconding what Amy said. I’ve heard of colourists actually dialing the red up so that it lasts longer, so maybe this will look really hot after a bit?
It could be so much worse.
There’s the path to happiness!
3. Gentry | January 31st, 2007 at 2:00 am
Red=good. Aubergine, that would be bad. Please clarify and assure us that there is no purple undertones involved. Also, please steer clear of all these crazy people, or at minimum bring a camera. I’m dying to see what they look like.
4. jonniker | January 31st, 2007 at 5:37 am
Red hair does fade on me, but it doesn’t fade quite the way it does on other people, or so he tells me. I’ve gotten a few red highlights before, and they stay true to color, but for SURE, the neon will fade.
Gentry: No aubergine/purple. None. Thank the lord.
5. TwoBusy | January 31st, 2007 at 6:16 am
Don’t think Ronald MacDonald. Think Jessica Rabbit. You’ll be much happier that way.
6. Claire | January 31st, 2007 at 6:47 am
gah, it’s so rare for people to come out of the salon and actually be HAPPY about what the stylists have done to their heads. where do these people come from that they feel comfortable ruining a person’s life with a pair of scissors and some bleach? but red hair is fun. I would like red hair… fire engine red is fine. even mike and ike red is fine…
we should see pictures so that we can tell you that you’re wrong and you look great.
7. Lawyerish | January 31st, 2007 at 7:08 am
I thought when Ad. held up the Hot Tamales he was merely pointing out how HOTT you are.
8. Christine | January 31st, 2007 at 7:12 am
You know that it is just wrong to tell us of your red hot tamale hair and not show us? Right?
I’m sure it will look beautiful in about a week.
9. whoorl | January 31st, 2007 at 8:34 am
I need to see a photo of the hair. PLEASE!
10. Andrea | January 31st, 2007 at 8:44 am
Not Ronald McDonald. Better Julianne Moore.
I once had a hairdresser, whom I trusted very much, give me a really bad perm (back when they still did them and spiral perms were the big thing). It was for my prom so that my hair would hold a curl when I got it fixed for the big day. All I wanted was some slight curl, very slightly more than a body wave. My hair is thick and coarse, holds curl well, and I have some natural curl, but only in little chunks. It’s very uneven natural curl. She kept checking the curl periodically, but then her phone rang and she went a few minutes longer than usual in the checking. Disaster. When she finally unrolled me, my hair, which had been past my shoulders, stayed curled up close to my head as if she hadn’t taken the rollers out. It’s a bad thing when your hairdresser goes pale. Then says, “Go home and wash it with Head and Shoulders a few times. That should help.” Yikes. Then she promised if that didn’t work, she’d relax it for me until it looked normal, free of charge. I looked like little orphan Annie, only brown hair. It was tragic. Luckily, I’d done the stupid perm in February and prom wasn’t until May (see? I wanted loose curls) so she had time to fix it. At least all those chemicals didn’t fry my hair. Now I know better. No perms. Ever.
So it could be worse. Your red will probably fade a little and be really pretty. My perm took a couple months to fix. I stuck with that hairdresser and she still did great hair. But if she told me stories of swatting flies with bloody tampons AND messed up my hair? I’d be outta there. There HAS to be a more “normal” hairdresser in your area who can duplicate Squiggy’s genius with the scissors.
11. Andrea | January 31st, 2007 at 8:44 am
And yes. Pictures of the hair. Demand.
12. Yez | January 31st, 2007 at 8:52 am
re hygienist: Ruh-roh!
re: Mike & Ike: BWAAAAHAHAHAHAHA!
Oh Luuu-cy, you got some essplainin’ to do!
13. Sadie | January 31st, 2007 at 8:59 am
oh, God, this took me right back to a former stylist, a flamboyantly gay Puerto Rican named Angel (“Ahhn-Hell”), who told me on Christmas Eve day he was going to give me a touch of auburn because my blonde was getting a little “brassy.” Sure, why not, auburn is nice, I thought. Until the “unveiling,” when my hair was Strawberry Shortcake red. All of it, pink. PINK. Even the other stylists stopped working to gawk, like “wtf did you do to that girl’s hair, Ahhn-Hell?!”
If you don’t look Strawberry Shortcake, or an eggplant, I am sure it is fine. And also, I totally know the too-high-filling terror of which you speak. But when they first give you the filling and ask, “does the bite feel alright?” how the hell are you supposed to know? It’s not like you ever thought about how your teeth fit together before, for one thing, and for two, your mouth is all Novacainey and drooly. They should give you some Baked Lays when they ask that question, if they want the real answer.
14. Melissa | January 31st, 2007 at 9:04 am
Why on earth would someone reach for something from the trash to smash flies with in the first place? And then how could he not notice it was a tampon! Used! Does he make this stuff up?
I hope you end up liking your hair color more than you did right off the bat.
15. Jamie | January 31st, 2007 at 9:05 am
I second Whoorl’s request for a photo. From one redhead to another…
16. Beth | January 31st, 2007 at 9:14 am
What? No photo of the flame-red hair?? Add me to the list… ;^)
17. Leah | January 31st, 2007 at 3:10 pm
I would like a photo of your “before” hair because I don’t remember it being blonde at all and I would like some evidence.
18. jonniker | January 31st, 2007 at 5:16 pm
Leah: You wouldn’t even see it in photos. I had 80% of my head done a shade darker than my natural color (which is a level 7 in terms of blond, 10 being the lightest, so I had it darkened to a 6), and I had level 10 highlights all over the top of it, sliced in. I guess Squiggs was worried that the white-blond would go green.
19. Leah | January 31st, 2007 at 11:45 pm
Being a level 9 blonde (I looked it up!), I can confirm that yes, swimming can turn the old coif green, but only if you don’t wash it afterward. I haven’t had greening problems since before I started showering daily (damn puberty), so unless you’re a stinky hippy, I think you’ll be okay. Well, especially now that you’re no longer blonde but red! Rawr.
20. Jonniker. » Cherry &hellip | April 16th, 2007 at 7:58 pm
[...] We’re done in that fork-in-eye sense, and the fact that our black Honda Accord up and died a pathetic coughing death this morning left us relatively unscathed, because we’re just too tired to care. Also, the fact that my hair looks vaguely short mullet-esque and is the shade – the exact shade, once again – of Ronald MacDonald’s only dawned on me this morning, leaving me with the horrible decision to ponder: do I let Squiggy, he of extreme hair dramatics and weak disposition, fix it, despite the fact that this is his second identical offense? Or do I go somewhere else, risking Squiggy’s eternal ire and potentially damaging clairvoyance and Carrie-like powers? The wrong decision could leave my head a thousand shades of red, either from a pool of blood or a botched color job. [...]
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